Tales of Well
by Beyond-Society
Summary: A collection of short stories about the RED and BLU teams, but primarily the BLU team,  stationed at Well. Contains several pairings, most prominently BLU Scout/Spy and RED Engie/Scout. M for later content.
1. Fear and Loathing

"Hey Spy, what're you afraid of?"

The question was abrupt and blunt, much like everything Scout did. Spy took another puff from his cigarette and glanced at his young companion, taking in the curiosity gleaming in those gold-flecked eyes. He raised an eyebrow and removed his cigarette to take a swig from one of the two opened beers sitting between them. After he swallowed, he set his cigarette back between his lips and let his elbows rest across his knees, eyes not leaving Scout's face.

"Why do you ask,_ petit_?" he said, blowing out a few smoke rings idly. Scout watched the rings dissipate into the night air before shaking his head.

"I'm just curious," he replied, lowering himself down so that he was lying sprawled out on the concrete roof. "I mean, Heavy's afraid of heights, Doc's afraid of drowning, and Engie's afraid of dyin' in general. I was just wonderin' what you were afraid of." He looked up at the star-strewn sky. "Everybody's afraid of somethin'."

Spy cupped his chin in his hand and contemplated whether or not to answer. A Spy was never supposed to reveal any weaknesses, to neither friends nor foes, and revealing what he feared would most certainly violate that creed. However, this was Scout. The boy was twenty-three years old, but he was still more child than man, honestly curious about everything and arrogant in only the way a child who had not been shown his limits could be. _It couldn't 'urt…_

No. No, even if this was Scout, the REDs had shown that they weren't above capturing the BLUs and torturing their secrets out of them. Scout was fast, but what if, one day, he wasn't fast enough? Spy frowned and sucked on his cigarette, only to realize he'd already smoked it down to the filter. He drew out another and lit it, glancing back at Scout as he did so. The young man's eyes were no longer looking to the sky, but to him, still waiting for an answer. This unusual display for patience startled Spy and he smiled slightly as an idea came to him.

"Alright _petit_," he said. "I will _consider_ telling you what it is that I fear if you tell me first. What is so terrifying that a brave young man such as yourself would 'ave cause to fear?"

Scout tensed at the question and his eyes were quick to turn back to the sky. Spy watched, patient as ever, as Scout played with his dog tags, his expression flicking between intense thought, discomfort, and shyness. He looked over at Spy briefly and, upon seeing at the older man was still watching, he blushed. Spy smiled behind his hand under the pretence of taking another drag from his cigarette, fighting back a fond chuckle.

Slowly, Scout licked his lips and said, "Promise you won't tell anybody?" Spy nodded and gave his word. Scout took a deep breath and ran a hand down his face. Then, slowly, he sat up and moved next to Spy so that he could whisper in the other man's ear. Spy's eyes widened in surprise as Scout explained what secretly terrified him and he cocked his head to the side as Scout pulled away. The boy looked nervous as he softly said, "Swear you won't tell nobody? Not even Sniper, or Medic?"

Spy smiled softly, shaking his head as he recovered from the revelation Scout had offered. The younger man's fear really wasn't that strange, now that he thought about it, definitely nothing to be embarrassed over, but he'd play along. "Of course _petit_. No one will know."

The relief on Scout's face was so obvious that Spy nearly laughed. "Great!" The boy grinned and punched Spy lightly in the shoulder. "Now c'mon. What're you afraid of, big badass Spy that you are?"

"Hmm, I recall saying that I would _consider_ telling you, _mon petit_," Spy said, grinning devilishly and drawing from his cigarette. "And after some consideration, I have decided to keep that little bit of information to myself."

"Aw, what? You can't do that! That's not fair!" Scout protested loudly, pouting in a comical manner.

Spy laughed and tousled his companion's hair before giving him a playful shove. "'All is fair in love and war' Scout. All is fair…"

* * *

_Three Months Later_

The BLU base was unusually quiet. For only the second time since their arrival at Well, they had lost the battle. No one was quite sure how it had happened, how the RED Scout had so easily bypassed Engie's sentries or how the RED's offensive line had been enough to hold the BLUs back so effortlessly. No one had come through the battle unscathed, all of them sporting minor injuries, though for some, they were not so minor. Engie had taken a full load of scattershot to the gut from the RED Scout and, after the RED Soldier had hit him with a rocket, Demo had only been saved leg amputation by Medic's speedy arrival. And Scout…

Spy was sitting in the infirmary next to the examination table where Scout lay, lost in unconsciousness. The masked man had been there for the past six hours, reading a copy of _Dr. No_ that he'd received from Sniper a few years back, watching for any sign of wakefulness in the younger man. So far, Scout hadn't offered so much as a twitch. He'd laid perfectly still, his breaths coming slow and deep, his eyes lightly closed. He actually looked quite peaceful. It was hard to believe that when Heavy had found him back during the battle he'd been begging to be allowed to die and respawn, despite knowing that ceasefire siren had already blared. Both of his legs had been broken and he'd been spitting blood from a kukri wound to the chest, not to mention the various bullet holes that had riddled him. It made Spy nauseous just thinking about it and made him silently glad for Medic's skills in healing.

Flipping to the next page in his book, Spy looked up as he heard Scout's soft breathing suddenly hitch. His eyes immediately found the boy's face, where eyelids were lightly fluttering and lips parted to release a breathy groan. Spy's gut clenched and he carefully set his novel aside. He gaze flicked, for a short instant, to the thick leather straps the Medic had insisted be put in place "for Scout's own good" in case he "tried to hurt himself" when he woke up. Spy's skin crawled as he remembered the night Scout had confided his deep fear of confinement in him; he knew that this would not end well.

Scout groaned again and Spy saw him attempt to lift a hand, most likely to rub his tired eyes. Said hazel globes snapped open faster than the Frenchman would have thought possible when the hand did not rise from the surface of the examining table. Scout lifted his head quickly and Spy saw sun-tanned skin paling as the boy observed his restraints. The tabled gave a sharp rattle as Scout brought his weight to bear against the bonds, but the straps refused to give.

Scout's gaze darted from side to side before locking onto Spy. He licked long dried lips and said, "Spy, lemme go."

Spy frowned and scooted his chair closer to the table. "I'm sorry_ petit_, but Medic ordered us to leave the straps on, even if you woke up."

"I don't care who ordered what, Spy." Scout's voice was starting to tremble and Spy could see him straining against the leather. "Let. Me. Go."

The fearfully pleading look in Scout's eyes was painful to see. Spy bit his tongue to keep himself from speaking and his hands clenched in the expensive fabric of his suit pants. He shook his head, bowing it so that he wouldn't have to see Scout's face. He didn't have to, though: what he heard told him more than enough. Scout's breathing continued to quicken until he was almost hyperventilating and the examination table rattled and shook as the Bostonian thrashed uselessly against his bindings. Spy shut his eyes as he heard frightened whimpers beginning to rise from the young man before him, bracing himself as he heard Scout take in a deep breath.

The scream that passed Scout's lips echoed off the sterile walls of the infirmary and made Spy's ears ache. He grimaced and resisted the childish urge to cover them with his hands, instead forcing himself to raise his eyes, opening them slowly. Scout's face, so pale a moment ago, had turned a rich crimson colour and his mouth was opened wide as the wordless roar left it, seemingly unending. His entire body bucked and writhed as he worked vainly to free himself, his motions so violent that, at one point, two of the table legs came up off the floor. Spy had had to push the table back down, and he gripped Scout's wrist so hard that he was sure the boy would bruise.

"_Petit_, Scout, calm down," Spy said, trying to keep his voice soothing while raising its volume high enough to be heard over the younger man's wails. "No one is going to 'urt you. We just need to keep the straps on until Medic is sure you won't 'urt yourself!"

If anything, the simple statement only made Scout scream harder. Instead of a wordless howl, however, he began to shout "Let me go!" over and over, so loud and so fast that it was hardly intelligible. Spy winced when he saw little lines of blood beginning to form on Scout's arms where the skin had been rubbed away by his struggling. He tried holding Scout still and speaking to him, hoping that the lack of violent movement might settle the Bostonian, but his screaming and fighting only got louder and stronger. Spy cursed and screamed out the infirmary door for Medic.

And then he saw the tears. Spy's heart sank down past his toes when he saw the fat drops of moisture rolling down Scout's cheeks. God, Scout had said he was afraid of being restrained, but this was beyond fear. Simple fear didn't turn a young man usually so arrogant and sure of himself into a wailing, crying child. This was something more. This something had made Scout entirely unaware of his surroundings save for those damned straps that held him. He only really seemed to notice Spy's presence enough to direct his desperate screaming and sobbing in his general direction. Otherwise, he was lost in his own terrifying little world.

Once Spy heard Scout starting to choke on the phlegm his crying had produced, he decided he'd seen enough. Damn Medic and his orders; he wasn't going to let Scout continue to suffer like this. He flicked open his butterfly knife with none of his usual finesse, a solid click following the movement. Scout saw the blade and he let out an ungodly shriek, but, as much as it pained him to do so, Spy ignored it. He held Scout as still as he could with one hand and carefully slid the knife between the straps and Scout's squirming form. Then, with carefully controlled strokes, he began sawing at the Bostonian's bonds.

"Vhat is going-? _Dummkopf_! Vhat ze Hell are you doing! Stop zis at once!"

Spy didn't have a chance to look up before a blue-latex gloved hand shoved him bodily away from the examination table. He fell to the ground and his eyes shot up to see Medic injecting something into the still wailing Scout's neck. He suddenly felt very cold. Scout was having a mental breakdown, the cause more than obvious, and Medic's solution was to _drug_ him? Out of the corner of his eye, Spy saw the rest of the team, gathered in the door and staring at the scene inside. As the Frenchman pulled himself to his feet, he heard Scout's screams fading until the young man finally fell back into deep unconsciousness. Ignoring the furious glare Medic directed at him, Spy moved back to the examining table, looking down at Scout. He felt anger bubbling up in him as he saw that, even unconscious, the boy still looked afraid.

"Now, vould you mind telling me vhy on Gott's green Eart-"

The thud of knuckles meeting soft flesh filled the infirmary for one quick second. Medic sprawled to the floor and, putting a hand to his aching jaw, he looked up at Spy. The masked man was massaging the knuckles of his right hand and glaring poisoned daggers at the doctor. Disbelieving stares from the BLUs assembled at the door followed him as he strode closer to Medic until he loomed over the usually more imposing man.

"_Vous me dégoût, vous sale fils de pute_," he hissed. Glowering, he spit on the doctor's pristine white coat and stalked away.

* * *

"That wasn't exactly a bright move, mate."

Spy didn't turn. He only took another long drag from his nearly spent cigarette, his third since he'd come up to the roof twenty minutes prior. He listened, though, and watched through his peripheral vision as Sniper came up beside him, arms crossed over his chest. _He's annoyed with me_, he noted dully, cracking open his cigarette case and drawing out two of the brown cylinders. He lit them both off the tip of his current cancer stick before holding one out to Sniper. The Aussie took it without a word and for a moment, the two of them smoked in silence.

"Doc's just about ready t'kill ya," Sniper said, blowing out a plume of bluish smoke. "He was pitchin' a royal fit when I left."

"I 'eard," Spy said, bemused. It had been hard not to hear the string of German curses and angry shrieks coming up from inside the base.

Sniper sighed softly, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes. "You don't think you did anything wrong, do ya?"

Spy shrugged and said, "I know I did something wrong. We shouldn't be fighting amongst each other like discontented children." He licked his lips before setting his cigarette back between them. "I won't say that the _petite chatte_ didn't deserve it, though."

He saw Sniper raise an eyebrow at him. "Oh really?"

"You 'eard Scout," Spy said, his voice a low growl. "You saw Scout. The poor boy was terrified out of 'is mind and what did Medic do? Pump some drugs into 'im, knock 'im out. Never mind that when 'e wakes up this 'ole thing will repeat itself." He sucked on his cigarette, burning it all the way back to the filter. "What was 'e thinking anyway? Straps! _Mon Dieu_, I know Scout can be a little bit 'ard to 'andle during 'is medical exams, but straps?" He flicked away his cigarette butt, snorting smoke out his nose like an angry bull. "The man is a fucking lunatic…"

Silence fell over the two of them again. Sniper continued to quietly puff away at his cigarette, which was still only halfway spent, and Spy just let his eyes slide out of focus, letting the RED base in the distance fade into a reddish-brown blur. He wondered if Medic had undone those straps yet, or if he was waiting for Scout to wake up and have another emotional breakdown. The very thought made his gut churn angrily. Medic had deserved that punch, no matter what anyone said. The man was a doctor for God's sake! He had to be reminded that his job was to help his teammates, not drive them into fear-induced insanity.

"I'll talk to Medic, get him t'undo the straps," Sniper said, dropping his finally burned out cigarette and grinding it into the roof with the heel of his boot. "There's no reason t'keep the little scoot trussed up like a bloody Christmas turkey. However," he looked down at Spy over the rims of his aviators, "you do somethin' stupid again, I'll strap you down and roll ya into the moat, got it?"

Spy nodded, but said nothing. It wasn't exactly what he wanted—quite frankly, he wanted Medic beaten bloody, but he knew that he was just being emotional—but it would do._ If he ever tries something like that again, though, I will kill him_, he thought grimly, finally turning to look at Sniper full on. The Australian wore his usual expression of impassivity, but his eyes showed that he and Spy were on the same page. Spy smiled and said a quiet thank you before walking back toward the interior of the base. He knew Sniper would do what had to be done.

* * *

When Spy returned to the infirmary after five more cigarettes, he found Medic at his desk filling out reports and Scout thankfully unrestrained, though he was still out for the count. Medic didn't look up when he entered, nor did he challenge him when he walked over to the examining table. He gently ran his fingers over the boy's cheek, jumping slightly when the younger man twitched and mumbled softly. Apparently he wasn't unconscious, but merely asleep.

"I vould appreciate it if you vouldn't vake ze patient, Herr Spy."

Spy turned to see Medic still hunched over his desk and he frowned. "I wasn't aware your sedatives wore off so quickly."

Medic growled, "Zey don't. I just gave him a very small dosage, just enough to calm him down." He took a deep breath through his nose and slowly got to his feet, still not turning to face Spy. "Sniper came to see me. Ve had… a talk about vhat happened earlier vith Scout." Medic turned and Spy was surprised to see a genuinely apologetic look on his face. "I apologize for my actions. There vas no true justification for restraining Scout like I did. I vas unavare of his apparent phobia, but zat is no excuse. It vas… nozing short of pure stupidity, vhat I did. I know zat you and Scout are close, and I know zat zis incident vas difficult for you. I'm sorry."

Spy crossed his hands behind his back, frowning contemplatively. "I believe it is Scout that you should be apologizing to, doctor."

"I'm avare of zat," Medic said, the slightest hint of venom in his voice. "I fully intend to once he vakes up. However, I zought zat it vould be prudent to apologize to you as vell." He pushed up his spectacles and sighed. "Not to mention zat Sniper threatened to string me upside down from his nest if I did not."

Spy laughed softly and he shook his head. "I accept your apology, Medic. Thank you."

Medic nodded tersely before going back to his paperwork, mumbling under his breath in German. Spy smiled at his back and then returned his focus to Scout. The young man had rolled onto his side and was kicking out sporadically. His eyes were darting about beneath their lids; he was dreaming. Spy's smile grew and he gently stroked Scout's cheek. Scout mumbled, but did not wake. Spy shook his head fondly and looked back at Medic.

"Thank you again doctor," he said.

Medic grunted in response. "Fine, fine. Now vould you kindly get out?"

Spy nodded slightly and gave Scout's hair a final playful tousle. Then, still smiling and glad that the day's drama was (hopefully) behind him, he left the infirmary, whistling softly as he walked.


	2. Beautiful Music

Not as happy with this one as the last one, but I wanted to get_ something_ posted for this. I apologize for slow updates, but I've been focusing on an original story project almost exclusively for the past couple of months and it's been eating me _alive_. I'm gonna do my best to keep working on the Tales of Well so that I won't leave you guys hanging too badly . Anyway, this is just a bit of fluffy stuff between Pyro and Engie. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Beautiful Music

It hadn't taken the BLU team long to learn that their Engineer had brought a guitar from home. Scout had gone into the older man's workshop to bug him for something and had caught sight of the instrument, leaning innocently against the end of his bed. The rest of the team had known of its presence within five minutes. Since then, it had become a kind of tradition for the team to get together on a Friday or Saturday night, and sit around the fire pit out behind the base to drink and listen to Engie play. It was also a good chance to get to talk to each other, for despite having known each other for years—nearly a decade in Spy and Sniper's case—they knew very little about each other. The main focus of the evening, though, would always be to listen to Engie play.

Pyro, for one, was particularly enamoured by Engie's musical skill. Even though Engie mostly only played country music and Pyro was more impartial to the up and coming rock-and-roll genre, there was nothing like the sweet twang of the guitar strings and, on occasion, the equally sweet Southern twang of Engie's voice. Pyro even abandoned his uniform on bonfire nights, just so that his mask wouldn't obscure Engie's performance in any way. The young man had always liked the sound of a guitar, but Engie could make his beat up little acoustic sound like Heaven's chorus. There was something about the earthy, down-home quality of Engie's music and he didn't want to miss it in any way.

On a slightly more selfish level, though, Pyro was trying to learn to play guitar himself. He had a second-hand Fender in his room and, while he could play a few chords, he wanted to actually learn how to _make music_ instead of just playing. Or screeching, as the "music" often was in Pyro's case. He would sit beside Engie on fire pit night and watch the older man's callused fingertips move over the strings to draw out that beautiful music. He tried memorizing the positions of his fingers, and when he went back to his room, he would try them out himself. His attempts never sounded as good as Engie's playing, but he didn't really expect them to; it would have been hard to draw those country sounds out of an electric guitar. Still, any time he came even close to sounding a little bit like what Engie sounded like, he would feel a thrill that not even creating the most beautiful bonfire could bring out in him.

Some part of him knew that it would be easier to just ask Engie for lessons, but he cringed away from the idea as soon as it came into his head. It wasn't that he didn't like Engie—it was the exact opposite. Engie was a great guy and Pyro liked him a lot, so much that he was kind of straddling the line between platonic "like" and romantic "like". And that was the big problem. He didn't want to go ask Engie for lessons and just end up staring at him like some kind of love-struck teenager. He was a grown man! And he didn't want Engie to think he was weird, or dislike him for being, you know, gay; Engie was from Texas, after all. Besides, he was learning perfectly fine by just watching Engie play; there was no need to approach him.

Engie was more observant than Pyro had given him credit for, though, and he surprised the younger man one Friday night just as everyone was heading inside after their fire pit meeting. Spy and Sniper had dragged a staggeringly drunk Scout back to his room with a laughing Demo following behind, and Heavy followed Medic inside when the other man retired, leaving Pyro and Engie the only ones outside—Soldier had opted out of fire pit night this time, citing paper work as his excuse. Pyro had just been staring into the fire, swaying back and forth slightly as Engie continued to strum at his guitar, when Engie stopped playing. Normally, Pyro would take the end of Engie's playing as his cue to head inside with the others, but Engie had cut off in the middle of a song without any warning. Usually Engie would at least finish his song before he stopped.

The sudden cessation made the younger man stop swaying and look over at Engineer, curiosity clear on his features. Engie was looking back at him, the blueness of his eyes startling Pyro despite the fact that Pyro had seen them many times before, and there was a light smile touching his lips. Pyro's cheeks heated a little and his eyes turned down to his feet; one of his shoelaces was broken, he noted, fiddling with the broken end with the toe of his other shoe. He heard Engie chuckle, which only served to deepen the redness in his cheeks, and he nearly jumped off his milk-crate seat when Engie patted him on the shoulder.

"Ain't no reason t'be so nervous, Py," Engie said when Pyro's eyes hesitantly came back up. "S'just me. I don't bite."

Pyro rubbed the back of his neck, sure that he was red as a tomato, and cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Pyro had never been good with words. The doctors back home had said he had something wrong with his brain that made it hard for him to talk to most people, but Pyro was pretty sure that he was just shy. He tried to talk sometimes, honest, but he hated being the center of attention and having everyone's eyes on him. It was unnerving, and it made his throat stop up. Being around Engie was a little better; Engie didn't stare at him when he talked like other people did. It was still tough to talk with him, though.

"Nothin' t'be sorry for," Engie said, and Pyro could see him smiling. "I've jus' been wantin' t'ask y'somethin' fer a little while now, and since all the other's've gone, I figure now's as good a time as any."

Pyro blinked and looked over at Engie a little more fully, raising an eyebrow in silent question. He'd always been better at talking through his facial expressions and body language than he had through words. Engie's smile grew a little wider and he indicated to his guitar with a nod of his head.

"I've noticed that you watch me play when we're out here," he said, "watchin' my hands and such. And I've heard you tryin' t'play yerself on that guitar y'got in yer room."

Pyro's eyes went a little wide at that. Engie had listened to him play? But he was so _bad_, Engie must have hated it! A wave of embarrassment flooded through Pyro and he folded his hands in his lap, staring down at them as he tried to keep from blushing again. Engie noticed the embarrassed gesture and he gave Pyro's shoulder a reassuring pat.

"Yer actually pretty good, considerin' y'ain't had no formal trainin' and you've jus' been watchin' me," the older man continued, "an' I've been wonderin' if maybe you'd like me t'give ya some proper lessons. I got another acoustic in my workshop—it's a little banged up, but it'd be more'n serviceable fer teachin' purposes. It'd just be up t'you to translate what y'learn from me onto that electric guitar. I think you could do real good if you just had a little bit a'actual learnin' under yer belt."

Pyro's eyes had popped at the word "lessons", and had only gotten wider as Engie had continued to speak. He stared at the man in the hard hat, and received only a warm smile in return. Pyro looked back at his lap, thoughts racing. Engie wanted to teach him guitar, and that was more than fantastic. However, it also meant that Pyro would be making a big fool of himself in front of Engie until he started actually being able to play well. The last thing Pyro wanted was for Engie to think any less of him for any reason, least of all musical ineptitude. The younger man swallowed hard and cleared his throat again.

"I'm not very good," he said, plucking at a loose string at the hem of his shirt. Engie let out another chuckle and Pyro saw him shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

"Y'don't gotta worry 'bout that, Py." He gave Pyro's already messy black hair a tousle. "That's what lesson are for! Y'start out bad, and y'get better the more y'practice. I'm not gonna judge ya; I know how hard guitar can be to learn." He laid his hand back on Pyro's shoulder and smiled. "How 'bout it?"

Pyro took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. This was the perfect opportunity for him. Engie would teach him without being mean about it, and it would mean that Pyro could spend more time with Engie without having to worry about the others being around and making him feel nervous. Still, he hesitated. He licked his lips and looked at the fire, for a moment just losing himself in the gently flickering tongues of blue and orange flame. The sight of the dancing flames helped calm him to an extent, and he could feel his breathing slowing. He took a deep breath and turned to Engie. The other man was still smiling at him, waiting; he was so patient.

A light blush climbed back up into Pyro's cheeks and he gave the tiniest of nods, a nervous smile touching his lips. "Okay."

"Alright!" Engie's smile became a grin and he gave Pyro a clap on the shoulder. "How 'bout we start tomorrow an' we can work out a schedule then?" Pyro just gave another nod and Engie gave him one in return. "Great! You ready to head in yet?"

"Not yet," Pyro said. "You can go, but I just wanna... sit for a while."

Engie nodded and gave Pyro's shoulder a squeeze. "Alright then. See ya tomorrow; jus' come 'round after lunch."

Pyro smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Engie chuckled and slung his guitar over his shoulder, tousling Pyro's hair once more before heading back into the base. Pyro watched him go before turning back to the bonfire. So, guitar lessons with Engie. A tingly warmth filled his chest at the thought and he smiled, pulling his knees up so he could rest his chin on them. Now all he had to worry about was acting completely moony and not actually paying attention to his lessons. That wouldn't be too hard, though. He chuckled to himself and held his hand out to the fire, just close enough that he could feel the intense heat against his palm.

This would be great.


End file.
